


Man's Monument

by Flens Verpa (whydoihavethiskink)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bondage, Branding, Chains, F/M, Genital Torture, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, Misogyny, Serial Killers, Shaving, Snuff, Torture, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 17:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16067582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whydoihavethiskink/pseuds/Flens%20Verpa
Summary: Wendy Corduroy gets abducted, tortured, and murdered by a woman-hating sadist.





	Man's Monument

**Author's Note:**

> Specially requested by Anon.

“I got you, bitch.”

Wendy’s face slammed against the floor of the van. Carpet floor. That would leave a burn.

“I saw you looking at me every day, looking down on me, laughing at me. I’ll show you how to respect me, you fucking whore.” The man zip-tied Wendy’s wrists and ankles as she struggled, disoriented from being hit over the head. He’d told her his engine was making a funny noise and did she know anything about cars, and the idiot bitch had actually believed him. “Every day. Always acting like you’re superior. Taking summer classes not because you have to, but because you want to look that much better than everyone else.”

“I don’t even know who you are! Let me go!”

“Fat chance, you lezzy bimbo.” Marvin slammed the van’s side door and climbed into the driver’s seat. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You’re an evil bitch who hates men, all proud of yourself. The sheeple don’t notice it because you’re _pretty_ ”—he spat the word as an insult—“and you fake being nice to them. But you can’t deceive me. I’m going to punish you like the whore you are.”

Wendy rolled to the side of the van and began kicking the walls with her bound feet. “Help! HELP! POLICE! I’M IN HERE! SOMEONE HELP!”

“No one’s going to hear you, dumbass. No one’s around.”

Gravity Falls was a small town. It hadn’t been difficult to track Wendy from the community college where she took those “double enrollment” classes for overachieving losers to the skeezy tourist trap where she worked—probably more like whored herself out to her boss and anyone who passed through—and beyond the corny “Mystery Shack,” there was nothing but farmland. Marvin had pretended to be a tourist with an engine problem to get her out of the gift shop and over to the van; the drunken old geezer who owned the place hadn’t even noticed his pet bitch was missing. He drove down the paved rural route and turned onto a dirt road, finally pulling into the long driveway of an isolated farmhouse. There, he turned off the ignition and opened the side door.

“Don’t you fucking kick me,” he warned her, as he cut the zip ties on her ankles. “I will knife you so fast.” He showed her the hunting knife; she nodded, alarmed. He yanked her out of the van by her shirt collar. “Move. Fucking come on now. Move!” He dragged her up the stairs and into the house.

Inside, Marvin dropped the deadbolt. “We’re going to my room. Upstairs. Now.” He pointed the knife at her. Wendy didn’t need to be told twice. Not completely stupid, this bitch; he’d give her that. Then again, an actual dog bitch could probably do the same.

He’d chosen the attic bedroom for a reason. An ancient hardwood support beam ran the length of the room, at ceiling height but below the actual ceiling, which was just the inside of the roof. No insulation. Not that that mattered; there was no one around to hear them, and it wasn’t winter. The beam was perfect for what he planned to do. He’d fantasized about for weeks, lying in bed in the corner of this very room, until he couldn’t stand not making it reality. He forced Wendy into a corner and threw the heavy hook end of the chain over the beam. It would have been easier and safer to set up that part in advance, but he wanted her to watch. He wanted the bitch to anticipate what was coming to her. Maybe the fear would even make the depraved slut wet down there.

The other end of the chain branched into shackles. On the floor—he’d done it in advance, because he’d figured she wouldn’t look there anyway—were more shackles, for her ankles. The man dragged her over there and locked her feet in. Then he cut the other set of zip ties and replaced them with the dangling shackles. He threaded the hook end of the chain through a loop in a wall beam and dragged her screaming into the air. The lower chains reached their limit, and he hooked the chain to itself to keep her their.

“Look at you,” he said, circling around in front of her. “All spread out like the slut you really are.”

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, voice trembling.

Marvin took in the sight of her: head, face, and shirt bloody, carpet burn on one cheek, hair mussed, hands going purple from the shackles, the cross-seam of her jeans on display; perky chest heaving, on the verge of tears.

“Everything you ever wanted, whore.”

Only one thing was wrong; she was still dressed. That was easy enough to fix. He cut off her clothes: One cut down the front of her t-shirt, cloth pulled taut not to catch the blade, and then sideways across each sleeve from collar to hem. Same with her flannel, except the sleeves were longer. Marvin considered getting scissors, but no—the knife was what he’d dreamed about. He unbuttoned her jeans and cut down the inseam, sawing the fabric apart. Partway through the second leg, she jerked and screamed—jerked as much as she could, in the chains. It wasn’t much. Marvin looked more closely—he’d nicked her with the knife, drawn blood. Its metal smell reached him, and he felt a stirring heat in his own jeans.

“So this is the tough Miss I-eat-monsters-for-breakfast Wendy Corduroy? One little nick and you scream like the pathetic airhead you are. I wasn’t even _trying_ to torture you, just get your slutty tight jeans off.”

“Airhead? You’re the one trying to cut denim with a knife.”

Marvin punched up at the most sensitive part of her he could reach, from where he was kneeling to cut off her jeans, which was her crotch. Most people thought women weren’t affected the way men were, getting hit there. Clits weren’t actually less sensitive than balls, simply much smaller targets, and Marvin had very good aim. Wendy shrieked and thrashed, straining against the chains.

“I’m sorry imsorryimsorry, you’re not an airhead, you’re obviously not, you had to be smart to get me here like this.” It was obvious placation, the same false flattery she used on everyone, but he’d let it pass for now. Subtlety was a bit much to expect, after a cunt punch.

“Stop fucking moving, idiot, unless you want it to happen again.” He was halfway through the lower leg of her jeans. Five more minutes, and Wendy Corduroy was in nothing but chains and her bra and underwear. A sports bra and plain, unfortunately, nothing lacy. Not even matching. Typical lezzy frumpy bullshit. Two cuts to the bra, across the straps in back and down the center, and two to the panties, if cotton briefs could be dignified by such a term, diagonally across the waist and center.

Wendy was naked at last. The carpet matched the drapes. For…what, 16? it was a horrifyingly abundant carpet, with a couple of matching couch pillows. Lezzies. Twice the fun to break them, but god did they let themselves go. Marvin thought about shaving her, then remembered that the only razor in the house was his, and he was not using it on a dirty bitch. Maybe he’d get some disposables, later. Right now, he had a boner and a disappointment.

“Stupid. Fucking. Slatternly. Lezzy. WHORE!” he yelled, punching her in the stomach. She tried to double up, involuntarily, stopped short by the chains. Maybe he’d slacken them a bit later, give her just enough room to react, but not enough to be dangerous. “Can’t even fucking keep yourself clean like a proper woman. I know how fake you are, but I figured you’d at least pretend you weren’t a total pig.”

He punched her again, twice in rapid succession. Wendy made a strangled sound and retched,but nothing came up.

“Filthy pig!” he yelled, this time kicking her. Suspended as she was, it was a high kick, and he missed her stomach, instead hitting the hard bone of her pelvis. He slapped her face, one side and then the other, feeling his cock twitch with each smack. “Filthy. Dirty. Lying. Pig.” He punched her in the stomach again one last time, cursing.

“How many men have you had in your cunt, bitch?” he demanded, when the thrashing and screaming stopped. “A dozen? Two dozen? More? Doubt any of them would fuck you now. Disgusting slut.” He undid his belt and pulled it out of the belt loops.

“N-none,” whispered Wendy, hoarsely. “I’ve never dated anyone.”

“Liar.” He doubled up the belt and cracked it against her breasts.

“Please!” shrieked Wendy. “I haven’t. I just try to get good grades and go to work.”

“Lying slut!” He hit her again. He considered using the buckle end on her, but no, he had plans. He unbuttoned his tented jeans. “I’m not touching you when you’re covered in disgusting hair like that.”

Marvin stroked his cock franticly, staring at the bruises forming on Wendy’s stomach and the blood trickling from her leg. In less than a minute, he came all over Wendy. Then he turned his back on the sobbing girl and went to bed, listening to her crying as he went to sleep.

 

Wendy had just enough time to register the sound that woke her up as the door swinging open and boots stomping before someone poured a bucket of cold water over her. She sputtered and gasped. By the time she blinked the water out of her eyes, her captor was already gone, his stomping and the clanking of what must be the bucket disappearing down the stairs. In a few minutes, he was back, with another bucket of cold water.

“Good, you’re awake. Time to make a lezzy slut look like a real woman.” Marvin pulled out a package of disposable razors and a travel-size can of shaving cream.

“Let me go!” demanded Wendy. “I’m going to freeze to death like this.” It had to be 80 degrees out, but she hadn’t eaten and had barely slept, and the cold water sapped the rest of the strength out of her limbs. She wasn’t trying to fight the chains anymore. Instead, her legs trembled from cold and exhaustion, and she hung limply from her arms despite the excruciating pain the suspension must be inflicting on her shoulders.

“We’re going to do something new today,” Marvin said. He sprayed shaving cream on Wendy’s bush. He started to rub it in.

“Stop touching me!” yelled Wendy. “Please stop touching me!” She squirmed, trying to get away from his fingers. The chains were so tight she couldn’t move her pelvis back at all.

“Go ahead, struggle. It’ll be worse for you,” said Marvin, uncapping a razor. It was a cheap men’s Bic, two blades; no sense wasting good money on dirty whore, not to mention it would be suspicious for a man to buy women’s razors. (And that was a shame. Lezzies probably got a thrill out of using men’s razors. The women’s Bics would have been much more appropriate.) Marvin began shaving Wendy’s bush.

Her disgustingly long pubes quickly clogged the first razor. Marvin rinsed it in the bucket a couple of times, but soon gave up and used a second razor. Eventually her cunt and asshole were shaved clean, if nicked in a few places. Marvin felt his cock stir a little, looking at the cuts. _Soon,_ he promised the heat in his gut. First he had to shave her pits. It took another razor for each side; the hair was thinner there.

Now it was really time to have fun. Marvin loosened the chains a bit, unhooking the end of the hoist-chain and hooking it back in a few links closer to the end; he wanted Wendy to be able to squirm. He unzipped his pants and rolled on a condom.

“I’m not fucking you bare, bitch. I might catch a disease.”

“I don’t have a disease!”

“You’re a total slut. You probably wouldn’t even notice if you did.”

“I told you! I’ve never been with anyone! I’m not a slut!”

Marvin shoved his cock into Wendy’s cunt. “So you haven’t fucked that geezer at the Mystery Shack? He can’t have given you that job for your _grades_. Or that retard who works there? Bet you can get him to do anything by flashing your pussy. He’s too dumb to save you now, though. Or that kid who’s always looking at you like a kicked puppy. Bet you let him feel you up at least—doubt he’d last to get it out of his pants, but that doesn’t stop a slut with no standards like you.”

“I haven’t done anything with them! Dipper’s like 12, and Soos and Stan are too old! You’re sick in the head, you creep! Ow!” Marvin had bitten one of her tits, hard enough it started to bleed.

“That’s for being a liar. You’ve fucked dozens of men. Admit it.”

“No I haven’t!”

Marvin bit her again. “Admit it.”

“Ow! Okay, yeah, I admit it.”

“In detail.”

“I’ve fucked dozens of men.”

“You like having their spooge inside you. You like being a dirty whore.”

“I like having their dirty spooge inside me and being a dirty whore.” Wendy just wanted the biting to stop. Maybe if she cooperated, he’d go easy on her.

“Like you mean it, dirty whore.”

“I like being a dirty whore.”

“That’s not like you mean it.”

“I LIKE BEING A DIRTY WHORE!”

“Now act like you enjoy me raping your cunt. I know you do.”

Wendy was crying now, doubtless from how good his dick was. “I like you raping my cunt. Fuck me harder. I love it!”

“You fucking love being treated like the whore slut bitch you are,” growled Marvin, grinding deep into Wendy’s cunt. The thrill of total dominance exploded through his stomach, licking up his spine, as he spilled into the condom. He pulled out and peeled off the condom, shoving it into Wendy’s mouth as she gasped for air. “Suck on that, lesbo bitch.”

“Oi hphth urr,” said Wendy around the used condom.

“You’ll regret that.”

Marvin zipped up his pants and left.

 

He came back after his classes that day. He could get used to this, having a bitch around the house to fuck. This time, he brought a handmade whip; the lashes were tipped with pieces of the used razor blades.

“This is your punishment for lying to me and saying you hate me.”

Wendy’s eyes went wide with fear. “Oh my god, what is that?”

“This is called a ‘cat-o-nine-tails,’ and it’s got claws.”

“Please don’t hit me with that! I’ll do anything!”

“Too bad. I want to hit you with it. You’re a weak slut and I can do anything I want to you.” He walked closer to her and rubbed her cheek with the whip, where the haft met the lashes. “And right now, what I want to do is make you bleed like the cunt you are.” He stepped sideways till he was behind her, drew back his arm, and landed the first lash.

Wendy screamed. It was loud, without words. She inhaled, and started yelling again. “Ow Jesus fuck, what the hell is wrong with you? Let me go, you sick son of a bitch!”

Marvin lashed her again, new cuts crossing diagonally across the old. “Didn’t I tell you?” he asked, when the screaming stopped. “Out here, _no one can hear you scream_.”

He hit her again. And again. And again. Soon Wendy’s back was a bleeding mess, and Marvin was rock hard in his pants.

“Time for the other side.” Marvin walked in front of Wendy, pants deliciously rubbing his cock at every step, and aimed his whip at Wendy’s breasts.

“Take that, bitch!”

Wendy jerked and screamed as Marvin tore her breasts to ribbons. He came in his pants and kept on beating her; he was so excited by her pain that he didn’t go soft for a moment. Finally, between pain, hunger, and blood loss, she passed out.

That completely ruined it for Marvin. What was the point, if she wasn’t aware of her suffering? He’d been close to shooting off again, but now he went limp. Disgusted, he threw the whip on the floor and went back downstairs.

He decided to rape Wendy again before he went to bed. She had woken up again, though she wasn’t very responsive. He’d fix that. Her body was covered in sticky blood.

This time, he had a box of straight pins. He stabbed one into her left breast. Wendy jerked upright, yelling “Ow!” Marvin laughed and stabbed her with another pin. Then a third. This time, he grabbed her breast and forced the pin through the base of her nipple. Then he stuck another pin through crosswise to the first. He repeated the same thing on her other breast, as the slut struggled and screamed.

He liked screaming, but the bitch was hurting his ears. Well, he’d shut her up—more like turn down the volume, really. She could scream all she liked, but she’d keep her mouth shut for it. Grabbing her lips, Marvin stabbed a pin through both of them. The screaming, now muffled, rose in pitch. He stabbed several more pins through her lips, sewing her mouth shut with steel, as he rocked his erection against her stomach. He finished off the improvised lip stitch with several more pins thrust upward through her lips.

Then he started on her ears. He stabbed a dozen pins through each ear, trying to hit the most sensitive places. He put several more through the bridge of her nose and her septum. Blood trickled from all over her face; some of the mouth needles had torn a little from her attempts to scream, and a great deal of blood ran down her chin, dripping on her pincushion breasts.

Half the box of pins was gone. Marvin started on the next phase. Kneeling (oh, he loved the mockery of the respect this whore thought she was due), he stabbed a pin through her clitoris. She thrashed, and actually managed to knee him in the face. Fuck! He’d forgotten he’d loosened the chains a bit. Standing up again, he punched her in the stomach.

“I’ll. Teach. You. To. Hold. Still!” Each word was punctuated by another savage punch. When the disrespectful slut fell limp, overwhelmed by pain, he tightened the upper chain again and returned to the genital torture, stabbing several more pins through her clitoris and labia.

Then, he loosened the chain again, and put on thick leather gloves and began slapping all the places where the pins were. Wendy flailed like she was having a seizure. At one point, she actually squirted; the whore bitch was so depraved she actually enjoyed it. He’d put a stop to that. Marvin took a pitchfork and shoved the handle into Wendy’s cunt, brutally raping her with the giant wooden rod. Eventually she passed out from the pounding against her cervix. He pulled out the handle, noting with disgust that it had been scratched by the pins (fucking sluts!); to wake her up, he hit her ass and back with the back side of the pitchfork until she gasped and jerked back to consciousness.

“You don’t think I’d miss the chance to violate your ass, slut?”

Not bothering with a condom this time, he greased up his cock just enough to allow him to force his way into the whore’s tight ass. She clamped down around him so hard it hurt, but he pushed through it and sodomized her as hard as he could. The pressure around the base of his cock just made him last longer. He’d carefully positioned all the pins in her cunt so they pointed at least slightly upwards, so he didn’t have to worry about his balls getting stuck by the pins.

“You like that, whore, don’t you? I should make a cocksheath with barbs on it, just to hurt your whore ass for real. Should’ve known a slut like you would just get off on being raped in the butt. If you’re not bleeding when I’m done, I’m going to take a power drill and put it up your ass and turn it on, shred you up real good. Make it into another bleeding cunt. That’s all you are, a cunt: good for bleeding and being a hole for real men.” He came in her ravaged ass, biting her shoulder till it bled too.

Wendy’s cries were muffled by her pinned-shut lips. They made a good lullaby. He went to sleep to the sound of it, after taking pictures of her bleeding, cum-leaking ass.

 

The next morning, Wendy was still nearly unconscious. Marvin decided it was probably safe to unchain her; she was weak from her extensive injuries and from not having water for three days. He unhooked the hoist chain and unceremoniously dumped her on the floor.

“Wake up, bitch,” he said, unchaining her ankles and replacing the wrist shackles with fresh zip ties. “It’s time to go to the shed.

“Mhmhm?” she said, through the pins.

“Up.” He yanked her to her feet by her hair. Wendy couldn’t stand by herself, so he had to half carry her down the stairs and out the back door. With him supporting her, she stumbled across the backyard and into the shed.

He had more chains ready here. These ones would spread the whore horizontally. The rack he strapped her to cleared the floor by just enough to be able to turn it over.

He’d bought branding irons from an agricultural supply catalogue, the sort you got at hardware stores in a small town like this. He’d ordered a full alphabet set, despite the expense, to avoid the suspicion he might get if he only ordered the ones for “WHORE,” “SLUT,” and “LESBO.” On a whim, he’d also put the brands for “C,” “I,” and “M” into the fire, so he could spell “BITCH” and “BIMBO” if he had space for it. The brands would be his secret message, hidden inside his final work. He alone would know the full truth about this woman.

He decided to start with “WHORE,” right underneath her breasts. He took each letter out of the fire, pressed it into her skin for several seconds, and placed it back in the fire to heat up again. First the O, in the center, and then the rest of the letters out to the sides, so it would be perfectly centered. O, then H, then R, W, and E. “WHORE”: there it was, a permanent label of what she was and forever would be. The whore so named thrashed against the bonds of her rack, body held straight and unsagging from its tension alone, leaving new bruises on her wrists and ankle on top of three days of old ones.

“LESBO” was next, on her stomach, directly above her cunt. This time, he could spell the word left to right, aligning it with the brands already on her torso. The smell of her flesh sizzling was incredibly erotic, almost as erotic as the screams and sobs coming from behind the lesbo’s sealed lips. “SLUT” was next; Marvin placed the letters diagonally across her body, between the other two brands, making the whole text like a backwards Z.

Now it was time to turn the rack over. He printed “BIMBO” down her left side, from the shoulderblades to just above her buttocks. The I had been in the fire for so long that the flesh beneath it turned black. The screaming was particularly good for that one. “BITCH” went on the right, a second beautiful line of burnt truth. She looked much more beautiful like this than she ever had when she was taunting and teasing him, strutting around campus.

He stared at the lines, leading down to her relatively unsmirched buttocks, and inspiration struck. He rummaged through the set of brands and put a few more of them in the fire. Soon they were red hot, and he branded “DYKE” into her buttocks: four letters, two on each side, with the Y and K higher than the D and the E, to emphasize the lovely lines of the other two brands on her back.

What about her thighs, though? He remembered reading somewhere that spankings and whippings hurt most on the thighs; it must be true of brands as well. He needed two more words to put on the backs of her thighs. Lovely long thighs, they were, perfect for as many letters as he needed. Almost, anyway. “BLEEDER” would still be too long. Maybe “HARPY” and “TEASE”? All he needed to get out for that was “P” and “A.” Sure enough, the teasing harpy’s choked screams rose to an inhumanly high pitch when he pressed the T just below the crease of her left buttock.

He finished the last Y, but he didn’t want to be done with the branding. It was nearly his favorite part so far. A thought came to him, a book he’d read for some stupid class once. In it, a woman who got caught pregnant from being a whore and sleeping around had had to wear an A on everything, for “adultery,” which was a fancy old fashioned word for being a whore, apparently. It being old times and all, it was weird they didn’t just kill her, but she had a kid or something and probably also all the bluepill losers wanted to keep her around to fuck her, or something, so she just had to wear a giant nametag all the time. Well, he’d put A’s all over this whore. She’d even liked getting stupidly high grades by whoring herself out to her professors, right? Double irony. Flipping her over again, Marvin pressed the “A” branding iron right between Wendy’s breasts, and then, for good measure, haphazardly along the fronts of her thighs, her upper arms, and, in a stroke of genius, the soles of her feet.

Marvin decided to rape Wendy one last time. He shoved into her, then began cutting her breasts with a knife. He avoided the brands, and the veins in her breasts; he didn’t want her to bleed out yet. The gashes opened, among the scabbed cuts from the whipping last night. The blood flowed. Every trickle made his cock harder. This was his true fetish, raping a teen girl who was struggling for her life; the one time he’d paid a prostitute for vanilla sex hadn’t been nearly this good. That time, it had taken him most of the time he’d paid for to come at all. Now, though, it had barely been five minutes and already he had to hold back to make it last longer. As he reached the point of no return, he actually severed each nipple, cutting from below and leaving just a little strip of skin to keep each nipple attached. Half-tits were not part of his ultimate plan. This time, he shoved the used condom up Wendy’s ass. Then, he stabbed her whore vagina with his knife, getting half-hard again as he watched the shock on her face.

It was time for the final part of his plan. Before he’d gone up to get the slut, he’d set a pot of lead scraps over the furnace. By now, it was completely liquid. Marvin flipped Wendy facedown and pulled the pot of molten lead along a track until it was directly over her. He poured the lead on the whore’s naked back and legs, sparing only her head for now. She screamed more loudly than ever before, as the metal burned her skin off. Then he flipped her over and poured it over her front from feet to head, over the knife still buried in her cunt, over her savaged breasts. He watched the pain and fear solidify on her metal-covered face as she died, burned and suffocated with her mouth and nose full of molten lead. Pouring with one hand, he stroked himself to climax with the other.

Of course, he wasn’t done yet, but the best part was over. Now all that was left was making the former lesbo slut Wendy into a monument to Marvin’s superiority and intelligence. He poured more lead over her until the coat was thick and even. He smoothed and added more details with a soldering iron.

 

The end of term exhibit went well. The school catering service even served wine, and wasn’t too big on checking IDs. The student sipped his glass of wine and went for a third helping of brie. You didn’t get fancy cheese every day, and if he could get enough to pass for dinner here, he didn’t have to buy it. More to spend on ‘art materials’ and rent, then.

“Your piece is interesting,” said a professor, next to him (he jumped a bit), “though disturbing. It’s intriguing, in and of its violent nature. ‘Comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable,’ I take it?”

“Uh, yeah,” said the student, scratching his beard. “It’s, you know, inspired by that girl who went missing. Shame she didn’t have anyone to protect her.”

“And who’s to say that psychopath wouldn’t have just killed him? I knew Wendy. She took my class last year. If she couldn’t protect herself, I doubt any man could have.”

“It’s not like that. Women don’t have the same upper body strength—”

“Seriously?” interjected a female student. “Evopsych is bullshit, Marv. When you account for height, it’s mostly that women don’t usually work out those muscles or have physical jobs, and that’s just societal. And Wendy was the exception. Like _you_ could have protected her. She could lift twice what you could. I doubt you even lift.”

“Fucking feminazis,” muttered the student into his wine. Well, he knew which lesbo whore he’d fix next.


End file.
